As the voice spoke, boldness and clearness came to the young maiden’s soul; every cloud of fear and mortal weakness was swept away; her intellect expanded, and the child of fourteen years felt and apprehended as a woman, nay, as an angel.
“Yet, O spirit,” said Erotion, “thou sufferest us to worship thee as a goddess!”
“Because man’s piety clings so closely to outward forms; yet those whom I choose know me as I am - therefore have I chosen thee, Erotion.”
“Can the divine thus regard the human?” said the child.
“Look by thy side, and thou shalt know.”
Erotion turned, and lo! on either hand there stood beside her two forms, of stature far above mortal height. One seemed a spirit of light, with floating garments, woven as it were of sunbeams; the other, dark, gloomy, and half concealed by an ebon mantle, that veiled the face and form. The child looked in wonder; but, even while she beheld, the phantoms melted into air.
“These are thy good and evil genii,” said the invisible voice; “they were with thee at thy birth, and will follow thee until death. It is they who inspire thee with thoughts holy or sinful, sweet or bitter; who produce all those strange and warring impulses which rule thy life. They have power over thee, but not over thy destiny, except so far as it is under thine own control, according as thou listenest to one or other of these guardian spirits.”
“I see! I feel!” cried the child. “I dreamed of this before - now I know it. Life is a mystery indeed!” and Erotion’s voice sank, solemn and trembling. “Tell me, what is death?”
No answer came; but a touch, light as that of summer air, pressed Erotion’s lips and eyes. Immediately the lips drooped; she beheld no more the sanctuary or the image, but a dim haze, through which myriads of shapes, some horrible, some lovely, were visible, like bright floating spectres, that glide before the eyes ere slumber comes on. Faintly in the child’s ear came aërial music, sweeter than she had ever before heard, even in dreams; her breathing ceased, and yet it was no pain; her limbs relaxed, and a frozen calm came over them. A voice, which she knew was that of the spirit, whispered, “Erotion, this is death;” and then she felt no more.
The child awoke as out of a long sleep, and found herself wandering on what seemed a desolate shore. Before, in the distance, lay the dim and gloomy sea: behind, clouds shut out the view. Those who reached that shore might no more look behind. The child glanced fearfully round her, but could see nothing except the lonely shore, and the terrible, waveless sea, that looked as though no living thing had ever stirred upon or beneath its waters. Erotion wrung her hands, but lo! palm met palm as air meets air - they were nought but outward semblance. She lifted her voice to cry aloud, but no sound echoed in the stillness of that fearful place. She glided over the shore, but her feet felt not the sands over which they passed, and left no prints behind. Again Erotion’s lips strove to utter a sound; all was still; but an answer came - a voice, which the child knew well, murmured -
“Fear not, Erotion; I am here. I rule in the land of silence as upon earth. Come with me, and thou shalt cross the ocean which separates life from eternity.”
Impelled by an invisible power, Erotion reached the margin of that dark sea. It neither ebbed nor flowed; no light waves danced upon its surface, which was of one unvaried dusky hue, as if an eternal thunder-cloud hung over it, and was reflected in its mysterious depths. Only one slender thread of brightness, answering to the milky way across the night-heaven, made a pathway over it. The child stood trembling on its verge.
“Erotion, place thy foot on the ocean without fear,” said the voice at her side.
Erotion did so, and it yielded not. Swiftly she glided along the silver line, with a motion like that which is felt in dreams, when we seem borne through the air invisibly. The desolate shore grew dim as the child sped on; the clouds furled off from the sky; the sea beneath her feet grew pellucid and blue, and melodious with dancing ripples. On, on, until in the dim horizon arose a golden cloud, which gradually formed itself into a land, beautiful as Paradise. Erotion beheld vales, and purple hills, trees, fountains and rivers; among which flitted, like fire-flies on eastern nights, bright and lovely forms, transparent as vapours, and yet bearing mortal semblance. As her feet touched the golden strand, she heard glorious music; she strove to join in the heavenly melody, and strains came from her lips, so sweet, so divine, that her soul was ravished with the angelic harmony.
“Thou hast passed through the Ocean of Death,” said the voice which still accompanied her; “thou art now in the land of immortality.”
And never, save in dreams, did mortal behold a land so glorious. It was most like those landscapes we trace sometimes in the sky, where snowy hills, and purple valleys, and silver streams, seemed formed in the clouds of sunset, vanishing as soon as formed. But here there was no night to dim the never-fading view; for though like earth, as, in its glorified beauty, it sprang from the hand of the Fashioner, still it was not earth.
The child’s spirit lifted its airy hands in rapture; and then glided toward the green plain that sloped to the sea, the unseen voice leading. Thus she passed, until she came nearer to those beautiful shadows which were flitting about on every side. Human they seemed, but it was humanity exalted into perfect beauty.
“Who are these shapes that I see?” asked the child.
“They are the spirits of the dead,” answered the guiding voice. “Thou seest that each bears the face and form which it wore on earth; yet they are only shadows, for the soul is of itself impalpable. They enjoy perfect bliss; and those delights which the spirit felt while in its clay-vestures, are theirs now unalloyed - love in its essence, knowledge, wisdom, genius, every sensation in which the body had no share; and those who on earth most cherished these spiritual pleasures, enjoy them highest now.”
“And oh!” said Erotion, “if those are the souls of the wise and holy dead, where are those of the unrighteous?”
A soft sigh, like the closing of a flower at sunset, was heard by the child, and the voice answered sadly -
“We may not speak of them; they are not here - they sleep”.
Without another word, Erotion glided on until she came to a green recess, golden-wove with sunbeam threads, that made a fairy network through the trees. There, hymning glorious poetry, such as never earthly bard conceived, reclined a shadow which seemed a youth. His face - and it was the same which had grown pale and sunken in life - now shone with divine beauty; the golden hair waved, and the sweet eyes looked as they did on earth.
“I lived - I suffered - I died!” cried the poet in his song; “And yet men knew me not. I brought with me fire from heaven, and it was not seen; yet I cherished it in my bosom - it warmed and cheered me, and I was happy.”
The child drew near, and her spirit stood face to face with the poet’s soul. Erotion spoke, for she felt no fear -
“And yet thou didst die unknown, and hast left behind no immortal name?”
“Not so,” said the shadow; “for men sing my songs. I live again in their hearts, though they never heard my name. Age after age they will think my thoughts, repeat my words, hold me as a dear friend, and honour me as a great teacher. This is the only immortality on earth.”
And as the child turned she heard from another celestial bower the echoing of the same song. There stood another soul, like the poet’s in radiance; and lo! wherever the shadow turned its beaming eyes, lovely pictures appeared in air; the artist had now no need of the frail hand which lay mingled with earth’s dust, to embody his divine conception.
“Genius is the only immortality!” echoed the shadow. “I laboured, I perished, and no man heeded; yet it is nought to me now; I am blessed. No friendly foot hovers near my grave, but I am not forgotten even on earth. Do not men bow down before my work? - do not they call it divine? - my glorious ideal! - do they not adore it, thinking it came from the finger of a god? and yet the hand that made it is now a heap of dust. But the work remains, and I live still in the creatio
n of my genius.”
Erotion knew not the form of the spirit which thus spake; but her awakened soul told her that she beheld the youth who had given to the temple of Diana Taurica its goddess - and died.
Onward went the spirit of the child, through meadows and valleys thick with imperishable flowers - over streams that sang ever their own sweet melodies-amidst woods whose leaves knew no withering; and still the invisible voice followed. At last Erotion came where the sunshine grew less bright, the flowers less beautiful, while a thin silver mist, like twilight vapours, obscured the view. Through it there floated shadows like the rest, but less brilliant, while on each face rested a pensive sweetness that was almost sad. Again a question rose to the child’s lips, but ere it was uttered the voice answered -
“These are they who have once erred, suffered, and repented on earth. They are happy, yet there still remains a faint shade of sadness - the memory of the past - until every sorrow which their error caused to others on earth shall have passed away.”
As the voice ceased, one of the spirits glided towards the child. It bore the semblance of a fair woman: the face was pale, but oh, how heavenly sweet! Erotion had seen it in her dreams; it had looked down upon her from among the stars in her night-watches. She had not known it then, save as a sweet fancy; but now her senses were all unclouded, and the child felt that she was near the spirit of her mother, whom on earth she had never beheld. The shadow approached: soft arms clasped Erotion - sweet kisses were upon her eyelids; for death cannot change love, least of all the love of a mother.
“Has death freed thee, too, oh, my daughter!” whispered the spirit, and bright pearls - they were not tears now - shone in the celestial eyes; “then soon shall all trace of suffering caused by me be swept from earth, and I shall be entirely blessed.”
“Art thou not so now?” said the child.
Again that mournful look rested on the face of the spirit.
“I sinned - I broke the solemn vows of a priestess for earthly love - I carried a deceitful heart to the holy shrine; yet I paid in death a fearful atonement - more fearful still was the thought of thee. Cruel was the mercy that delayed the punishment until thy birth, to make it only more bitter. But ere death came, I met it with a calm and penitent heart, and it wafted me to rest and peace. Here I await thee - and one more. The day is now come.”
“Not yet, not yet!” uttered the mysterious voice, and Erotion felt herself borne away as on the wings of a summer breeze into a lovely glade. There spirits, diviner and more beautiful in shape than any she had yet beheld, were floating over the grass, or listening to ethereal music. They were crowned with stars, and bore golden palm-branches, and their brightness was such, that the child veiled her eyes from the sight. But they came near and lifted her in their dazzling arms, while their song rose loud and triumphant-
“We are blessed, we are blessed! we died joyfully for what was dearest to us on earth; we feared not the lonely shore nor the gloomy sea, and we enjoy a rapturous immortality. O spirit! loosed from the earth bonds for a time, behold thy destiny - thou shalt be one of us - rejoice, rejoice! Such a death is sweet - sweet as a babe’s slumber - such an immortality is unspeakably glorious. Erotion, fulfil thy destiny, and come to us.”
The child seemed to fall from that divine embrace, down, down through mists and darkness unfathomable - time and space, myriads of ages, and millions of leagues appeared to gather behind her, until some soft touch was laid upon her eyes and lips, and Erotion awoke from her trance.
She lay on the floor of the sanctuary; the sacred lamp was nearly extinguished, and the gray morning twilight rested on the veiled statue of Diana Taurica, which stood immovable in its white shroud.
Chapter III
Never more after that night did the vowed one of Diana look or speak as a child. Erotion was not sad, but none ever heard from her lips the light-hearted laughter of girlhood. Her eyes were of a dreamy depth, and had a strange, mysterious look, as if her soul saw without the aid of mere bodily organs. She walked through the world as though she beheld it not; shut up in herself, her outward life seemed mechanical, while her inner mind was ever brooding over things beyond earth. Men looked upon her as one on whom the spirit of the goddess had fallen; the few words which dropped from her lips were held as oracles; no eye followed her - no power controlled her. Wrapped in her priestess’ veil, the young maiden passed from the temple to the city, from the city to the sylvan forest, or the lone sea-shore, and no one stayed her. She passed, like a spirit of purity and beauty; wild, untutored men looked and turned aside in reverence, as if Diana herself were among them; children beheld with wonder one who was like themselves, and yet so unlike. But one and all regarded Erotion as the chosen of the goddess.
As months and years gathered over the head of the maiden, the strange spell which had overshadowed her childhood seemed to grow stronger. Even the vowed novices thought of their own beauty in girlish vanity, and talked of the world outside the temple walls; but no such feelings ever disturbed Erotion’s unworldly nature. Beautiful she was, but it was the beauty of an angel, not of a woman; no eye could look upon her and mingle her idea with that of earthly love.
In the long summer days, Erotion went out in the forest; there, in the deepest glades, she wandered alone. Sometimes children who were suffered to run wild in the woods, came home and told of a strange and lovely face which they had seen gleaming through the trees, and mothers remembered that it was a place haunted by Dryad and Oread, and thought it no marvel that such should love to look upon beauteous infancy. Often, too, the wayfaring peasant heard, above the melody of hidden waters, a sweet and mysterious voice, and said it was the Naiad singing beside her fountain.
But more than the green plains and the woody recesses, did the young priestess love the sea-shore. A spell for which she could not account drew her ever to the margin of that dark sea, now called the Euxine, on whose shore the city stood. Its gloomy billows, its wild coast, its frowning rocks, had for her an inexplicable charm; it might be that they recalled the memory of her wondrous dream in the temple, if dream indeed it were, which seemed so real. In the splendour of noon, in the dusky eve, in storm and in calm, Erotion haunted the shore and watched the sea. Mariners from afar saw her white garments floating on high cliffs and in sand-bound caves, which hitherto only the sea-bird had visited, and told strange tales of ocean nymphs and coral-crowned Nereids.
In this solitude, Erotion pondered on her destiny; the winds and ever-murmuring waves were her teachers and companions; they seemed to speak to her as the invisible voice had done in her dream, of things great and wonderful - of the marvels of nature - of the life of the soul - of poetry, genius, and all-pervading love. Often she thought of her own strange and lonely life - of her mysterious birth, and again she felt the embrace of the spirit who had called her “child,” and whose mystic words she had heard in the vision. Then Erotion’s thoughts turned from the dark and unexplained past to the future, still more vague and shadowy; and amidst all these musings came pealing the farewell chant which she had last heard in the land of immortality - “Erotion, Erotion, fulfil thy destiny, and come!”
It was on one of those evenings when the glories of the setting sun might truly bring to a Greek imagination the idea of Hyperion in his golden chariot, or of Tithonus the bridegroom sinking into the wavy arms of Thetis - that Erotion wandered along by the sea-shore. She watched the sun in his cloud-pavilion, and thought that an orb so glorious was a fit dwelling for a god. She remembered the legends of the priestesses concerning the elder race of gods - of Hyperion the Titan, whose throne was in the sun, and before whose giant beauty even that of the young Apollo grew dim; how that he and his brethren had been overthrown by a mightier power than even their own, and that Olympian Jove was now worshipped by mankind. And then came across the memory of the inspired maiden the words which she had listened to from the voice, that even these were shadows, and that the gods of Olympus were but personifications of the various powers of nat
ure, or of holy sentiments, thus made tangible objects of worship for the darkened mind of man.
Absorbed in thoughts like these, Erotion saw not that black clouds had gathered over the fair evening sky, that the waves were rising, and the whirlwind was heard in the air. The sea-birds shrieked, and flew to the crevices of the rocks, against which dashed the billows thundering and heavily. Nearer came the tempest, bearing destruction on its wings, as if the powers of earth, heaven, and sea were at warfare, and were mingled together in deadly confusion. Through all this fearful contest went the maiden, her long black hair tossed by the winds, her garments torn, her feet bleeding, and leaving their red traces over the sand, until she came to a little cave she knew. She stood at its entrance, and the struggling moonbeam that glimmered through the edge of a black cloud, lighting up her form, made her seem like a wandering ghost by the side of the gloomy river of Tartarus.
As she stood and looked into the thick darkness of the cave, a man’s voice, hoarse with terror, sounded from within-
“Iole! Iole! art though come to visit me? Has no tomb yet received thy clay, that thou must wander here as an avenging spirit? Iole! Iole! depart, and let me die!”
And the cry became a shriek of horror as Erotion drew nigh, and bent over the speaker - a gray-haired man, whose foreign garments, covered with sea-weed, and bruised limbs, bespoke him a shipwrecked stranger, driven thither by the storm.
“Fear me not,” said the sweet voice of Erotion; “I am no spirit, but a woman, a priestess of the temple which is nigh here, the temple of Diana Taurica.”
A cry such as only the wildest agony forces from man’s lips, was uttered by the stranger -
The Dedalus Book of British Fantasy Page 18
